


Dionaea

by LittleLinor



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Bondage, D/s, F/M, Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So maybe it's not magical tentacle plant bondage, but Naoki finds out that ropes have a magic of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dionaea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [o0whitelily0o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0whitelily0o/gifts).



> Originally written on tumblr, for a prompt for "bondage + gagging"

So maybe ropes and a ball gag aren’t as “woah” inducing as some of the things he’s gone through. Maybe he kind of daydreams sometimes about what it’d have been like if he _hadn’t_ been scared and she hadn’t been brainwashed and his friends’ lives hadn’t been on the line. Maybe by now his subconscious has developed some weird plant-specific tentacle kink and part of his brain likes catching him off-guard with such charming thoughts as _you know, one of those could have gone into your throat._

_Maybe._

But that was all images, even while it was happening, imagination gone wrong, and now with Maki’s hands pushing some of his bangs behind his ears, with her voice sinking into his bones with calm promises of what’s to come, he’s starting to see that the power of imagination is well and alive, because the very _concept_ of what she’s doing is making him shudder and she’s barely even started.

She’s awake and herself and doing it of her own volition (she _wants_ him, and it’s been weeks but that’s still dizzying to him), and every time she touches him and his stomach or lungs flutter with reflexive fear or apprehension, that same part of his brain reminds him: you chose this. You _asked_ for this. And _that,_ that thought alone could be enough to send him flying.

Surrender. It’s so different from just taking what’s thrown at him, he can see now, so much more dangerous and scary. 

He loves it and he could cry from how good and terrifying it feels.

(But it feels safe, too, with her voice and her smile, and he wants to lean forward into her and be scared _there_ but she told him not to and he wants to make her proud)

"You’re thinking about it."

"Y-yeah." He laughs, half nerves and half happy high. "… sorry?"

"Don’t worry about it." She’s smiling, with that glint that always catches him and keeps him fixed on her. "I’ll just have to make sure not to leave you any room for that for a little while," and okay, that sounds so good and he has to bite his lip not to beg her to.

She giggles and kisses his lips to free them.

"Give me your hands."

He holds them in front of him. She catches his wrists, one in each hand, and bends forward and over his shoulder to pull them behind him, tugs them up against his back, and transfers them both to the same hand so she can pick up the rope she left behind him.

She’s careful as she wraps the rope around his wrists. He can feel her fingers brush against him to test every loop, rub into his skin to ease out folds, tug on the twin lengths to make sure everything is tight and safe. His face is pressed into her shoulder, purple hair blocking off most of his visibility; he closes his eyes to focus on her touch at his wrists until she finally pulls back, brings the rope over his shoulder and to the front of his chest, brushing against his neck. He opens his eyes again. She smiles at him, silently, and slowly begins to pull on the rope, tugging his wrists higher and higher until pain makes him let out a quiet whine.

She stops, but keeps the rope taunt.

"Okay?"

"Y-yeah."

Carefully maintaining the tension that’s keeping his arms strained just on this side of painful, she wraps the rope around her hand and pulls herself closer with it, until one of her knees is barely inched between his on the ground, just enough to feel it. It brushes against him through the fabric of his trousers, and just as he’s about to spread his legs out of reflex, Maki bends over his shoulder again to wind the rope around his chest, bring it back to the front and do a little twist, securing the position of his arms as firmly as any actual knot.

It’s almost like the rope is an extension of her.

She lays it out over his shoulder again, still wrapped around her hand, and gently but firmly presses on his shoulder with her other hand, twisting his chest to the side and bending him down. Around his wrists the rope goes again, and then down, and then she’s weaving in and out of the warp of his arms, until his upper arms are tightly bound to his wrists, pulled close and almost touching, separated only by the coils of rope. He can’t move them at all anymore, he realises with a choking knot of his lungs. If it wasn’t for the strain he still hasn’t completely adjusted to, he could completely relax his arms and the rope would hold him, as safely as her hands. It makes him feel weak in the knees—one more reason they had chosen the right position.

Bent down like that, his breath is coming fast, and faster even from excitement. He looks at the floor as Maki’s hands connect the net on his arms to the coil around his stomach and back to tighten it, and he’s almost going limp when she tugs and pulls him back up by the ropes binding his arms.

Stuff to add to his mental list of Things He Hadn’t Known Would Be That Good: his body being forcefully moved.

He must have made some kind of noise, because Maki is giggling and kissing his cheek. He blinks some focus into his eyes and looks up at her, fighting the urge to drop his gaze.

"You’re doing really well," she murmurs, tilting up his chin with her free hand before combing it through his hair. It makes him blush, the heat coming to life somewhere in his chest before spreading to his face. He hums—or tries to, anyway—to acknowledge her words. She smiles and subtly tightens her fingers in his hair, not pulling but keeping a firm presence as she pets him. "… can I be a little harder on you?"

He draws in a shaky breath and bites his lip before nodding—he’s not sure he trusts his voice right now. Maki _beams_ , and that makes him flush even harder.

"You’re such a good boy, Naoki," she tells him, and she kisses him, keeping him in place with the hand in his hair and sucking on the lip he’s been working with his teeth.

He’s panting when she pulls back, but to his surprise, her movements are no harsher than before. She busies herself with the front of his chest instead, developing the pattern of rope there until it’s as secure and unyielding as the one at his back, tightening the ropes pressing close to his neck. It’s only when she’s tugs on the rope tied to his chest and finds it perfectly secured, jerking him forward slightly instead of slipping, that she gives a satisfied smile, reaches behind him to rest her hand on the back of his head, and pushes.

” _Down._ ”

He bends forward, breath short and shallow, and she holds a fold of the rope down against the floor as she wraps the other end around one of his legs—oh. _Oh_. So that’s where she was headed. He gives a light moan, and she tugs his chest playfully down in response. The rope comes to an end before she can move to the second leg, so she reaches for the next one, loops its middle into a knot and joins it to the previous rope before binding his second leg closed. They’re both held folded and just a little bit spread, and she slowly works the rope between them to build a solid network, twisting it with the end of the loop she had kept close to the ground.

"You can sit back up, now," she tells him with a pet to his hair.

He sighs to try and calm his breathing, and starts straightening—only to be held short by the rope linking his legs to his chest _just_ as he was about to enter a range of remotely relaxed positions. His breath catches, stumbles—he’s caught, between bending forward again where his folded stomach limits his breathing (and she’s asked him to straighten, so he doesn’t want to disapoint her by going back down), and up, where he could relax the muscles of his back if the rope wasn’t holding him down just short of that goal. There’s nowhere to go except here, right in the middle with the rope tight against his body and the slowly building burn in his abdominal muscles. His breath catches again, and the sinking realisation courses through his body like a shudder, dragging a sob out of him.

Maki’s hand is in his hair, gentle and soothing.

"Can you handle this?" Her voice is serious and slightly worried; she wants a real answer. He draws in a shuddering breath and nods, but her fingertips rub into his scalp more. "Talk to me, Naoki."

"Yes." He sounds light and shaky, but he’s found his voice at least, and he lifts his head to look back at her. "Yeah, I—I can handle it."

She rubs behind his ear and at the back of his neck, and finally slides her hand down to cup his chin and kiss the top of his head.

"All right."

Hooking her fingers under the rope closest to his neck, she starts working the remaining length along the tight rope linking his chest to his legs. It weaves into the net at his chest and the knots around his legs and wraps around itself until she’s built a thicker, sturdy pole of rope anchoring him down like a noose, and she slips what’s left of the rope under a loop to secure it, carefully letting it hang without tangling.

Naoki breathes in and out, slowly. The ropes around his arms and the gently painful pull of his shoulder muscles have become a second skin by now, but the position is keeping him on his toes, constantly flirting with the edge, sensitive to every touch and movement that could break what little balance he’s created. It’s so—so _fragile_ , this state of almost being okay, and the more he waits under her gaze the more he actually wants to break, to not be okay, to be pushed through that first limit he can feel at his fingertips (no a hard one, no, he knows he could go much further and he _promised_ , but still one that won’t leave him unshaken).

Her fingers brush his face. He looks up through his bangs and catches sight of her face, proud and happy and hungry. _God, please,_ he shudders, and nuzzles into the comfort of her hand. She whispers his name. He answers with a whimper; _please_ , his mind calls out. _Please_. This suspended state is utterly wrecking.

"Naoki," she hums, brushing his cheek and sliding further up into his hair—and _grips_ , twists her hand into a fist, pulls back to force his head up.

He cries out. At first his body tries to follow her hand, but the rope stops him in his tracks and he cries out _again_ , taking the full movement with his head and feeling even more fragile and pliable than before; his face, his throat, they’re so _exposed_ , and her eyes brush over his skin there, almost as palpable as fingernails, making him painfully aware of every little place they could catch. 

She’s smiling at him again, and he feels so weak under her gaze, so helpless and both begging and terrified of being broken. Begging her to get on with it, but he can’t say that, no, she’ll take him apart when she _wants_ to and that’s what makes him shudder—and moan and let his eyes fall.

"Look at me, Naoki," she tells him, trailing over the syllables of his name. He drags his eyes back up to her face, breath shallow and shaky, fights them open when they flutter closed. Her second hand comes up to brush hair out of his face—his breath catches when her fingertips pass close to his eyes—and caresses down his cheek until her thumb can press on his lower lip. It pulls down gently, and he lets her open his mouth, run her fingernail between his lip and his teeth.

"Ah, that’s nice too… we should play properly with this someday…"

She slides two fingers into his mouth anyway, with what looks more like curiosity than anything, and brushes them against his tongue. The pressure makes him even more aware of the hand still gripping his hair (she could lock his head in place and keep brushing them until she hits his throat, and _oh_ , now he’s got yet another fantasy to keep him awake at night). He moans quietly, letting her move them however she wants, and is almost dissapointed when she pulls them back.

Or he would have been, if it wasn’t for her next words.

"Do you still want the gag? We can keep going without it if it’s too much."

He nods, but then opens his mouth when she raises her eyebrow at him.

"I want it!"

He’s past feeling self conscious for the excitement in his voice, but he can tell she’s noticed it, because her smile widens and she chuckles, rubbing his cheek affectionately.

"Okay." She pauses, frowns slightly, looks at him in thought. "… say, can you shake your head no when I’m holding you like this? Try it out."

He does—it pulls on his hair slightly, but most of the restriction in his movements affects his neck, not the head itself. He can shake it, at least part of the way. Maki nods.

"Good. If you want me to stop and you can’t use your mouth to ask, do that. Understand?"

"Yeah."

She smiles and lets go of his hair. He lets his head drop with relief (but it’s the nape of his neck that’s exposed, now, and the curve of his back where it meets his shoulders) and breathes in slowly as she reaches to the side to take the ball gag from its box. In and out, trying to unwind his nerves, but the position he’s still forced in makes that impossible to achieve, makes it too hard to step far from the edge.

Her fingers are back, slipping under his chin to push it up, and he obeys the unspoken order to look back up.

"Good boy," Maki murmurs, reaching for his head. "Open your mouth."

He does so, and she slips the ball into his mouth, carefully fitting the attachments against the corners of his lips before pulling the straps flat against his cheeks.

"Is the size okay?"

As much as he wants to just nod and let her get away with anything she wants, he takes the time to test it, moving what he can of his mouth around it, measuring the strain in his jaw. He’s held a bit wide, but that’s exactly what he wanted, and the holes are letting him breathe just fine. He nods, and she nods in response before reaching behind his head to buckle it closed.

And that’s it! he thinks. Just like that, with that buckle laid down against his hair, he’s restrained not just in his movements but speech too. Almost completely at her mercy, and her hands completely free. She doesn’t even need to touch him to keep that control. She could do anything. She could _leave him there_.

She doesn’t. Just as he was starting to whimper at the thought, she cups his cheek with one hand and pets his hair with the other.

"It looks good on you," she says, freeing strands of hair from under the straps. "You wear pink better than I do."

He actually chuckles at that (damn right he does, Aichi isn’t the only one who can rock it, but hearing it from _her_ gives him a little extra flash of pride), and even though it makes him cough a little around his gag, it’s still chased away some of his nerves. He nuzzles her hand when she cups his face to check on him. He’s still barely holding himself together, yeah, but he’s getting used to that, and this moment just feels warm and intimate, her hands on his face and him cuddling back with the only part of his body he can move. It’s good and safe and he finds himself letting out a little noise of comfort through his gag.

Maki smiles and kisses his forehead, and then pulls back to look at him, hand sliding to the back of his head, and he has just enough time to catch her intention before she burries it into his hair again and _yanks_ and his head crashes backwards with a muffled cry. It’s tighter than last time, actually painful, and the way his neck is curled back makes any attempt at resistance laughable. It’s only a little pain, but it washes and resonates through his cramped, restrained body, and it’s so—he shivers when he meets her eyes, because they’re eating him right up as he unravels and he wants her to tear him apart.

What she does is brush her other hand up the rope keeping him pulled forward, up his chest, and up to his throat. Her fingertips brush up against it, feather-light, and he swallows—whimpers again, because the position of his neck makes it hard to do, as if someone was squeezing his throat. She smiles and trails them down, but this time, it’s her nails that graze his skin and catch on the ridges of his throat and his adam’s apple. His breath comes fast and shaky, irregular. She brushes up again with the pads of her fingers, but presses on his throat as she does, making him gag lightly—and then not so lightly. His whole body starts trembling from the effort of keeping it under control, and he thinks he might have started sobbing—but he doesn’t have time to check, because this time when her fingers go down, their nails rake his skin and her other hand twists in his hair and he’s crying out in pain, high pitched and light and desperate, tears blurring his vision.

She bends forward, whispers something in his ear that sounds like _cry for me again, Naoki_ , and her teeth are grazing his jaw, and then pressing into his neck and pulling at his skin, and her fingers and nails bury themselves into the hollow where his neck meets his chin and he’s sobbing, chest jerking, sore, strained throat locking down, his entire body shuddering with it. He squeezes his eyes shut and the tears fall, but he opens them back again—there’s no escape in darkness from the pain and her absolute grip on him, but neither is there with his eyes open, with the room around them that feels so disconnected from everything he feels. He sobs and lets it carry him, lets his head rest in her firm, painful hold, and his body in the craddle of the ropes. Tense and boneless both, barely aware of the noises coming out of his throat or his attempts to swallow back the saliva pooling in his mouth. It’s too much and too good, and when Maki pulls back from his neck and releases his head to wrap herself around him and cushion his head on her shoulder to drift back down, he’s not sure how long he’s spent sobbing up into the air.

He nuzzles her shoulder, buries his face into it and lets the jerking in his chest die out. Her hands caress his back, his head; when he sighs and shifts his head slightly to just rest against his shoulder, she rubs fingers against one of his palms.

"Are you all right?"

He nods against her and closes his eyes, and they stay like this as he comes down, Maki occasionally kissing away the tears on his cheek.

 

 

Later, when she’s taken the gag away and slowly untied her rope and carefully massaged some life into his limbs, he curls up against her on the couch and falls asleep with her hand in his hair.


End file.
